The Curious Adventures of Gordan's Thoughts

Personal true story (5-minute read)

“Oh my god, did you read about the winner-chill on the innernet?” one of the girls shrieked. “It’s like the biggest one of the error. Apparently the chill is even hitting eye-rack this year!”

Winner-chill? Innernet? I felt like they were speaking another language.

What was a winner-chill? Honestly, I thought it was when someone wins a victory and then gets to chill afterwards.

And innernet, as if there was an unconscious net on the inside of us, catching our thoughts and dreams.

Biggest of the error…eye-rack…alright, they’d lost me there. Lost as I felt, I kept listening to the conversation, hoping to pick up more clues as to what they were on about.

After about ten minutes of back and forth, I finally understood they were speaking about the cold spell that they’d read about online. It was one of the coldest of the century; even some generally hot countries in the Middle East were having an unusual temperature shock!

Winner-chill… winter chill. Right.

Innernet… internet. Oh goodness, I had a lot to learn.

Error was apparently “era”, and an eye-rack was not, in fact, a rack where people placed their eyes. It was a country, Iraq.

I felt so dumb.

For me, the English I’d learned was either through reading or watching legitimate news channels. You know, those channels where people sound “pretentious” just because they communicate to be understood. They don’t speak just for the sake of expression, rather their words have meaning.

In this situation, the language my schoolmates spoke was known as “common tongue”, a form of syntax and pronunciation that met the bare minimum requirement for English verbal communication.

At the time, I had not yet been educated in the use of this language, having come from a background where the English I’d learned at school was a watered-down version taught by teachers who’d studied it as a second (or even third) language.

At home, I came from a family of high-achieving academics who refused to “dumb-down” their vocabulary. I had no choice but to raise my standards lest I be sorely misunderstood by those in my physical vicinity.

At that age, my written expression had far outpaced my verbal ability to articulate. I would write about advanced phenomena that my conscious mind didn’t even comprehend, yet my mouth could not accurately convey what I knew I wanted to say.

Finally, by the age of twenty-five, a linguistically-gifted friend observed an interesting occurrence within my syntax: all my life, I had been speaking “translated English”. Every word I wrote mirrored the language used in textbooks translated from European languages, and those I spoke actually made more sense when reworded in another language.

It had taken me twenty-five years to realize why I’d spent my life misunderstood and displaced…

Language is like art, or music. Just because the creator (or speaker) knows the meaning behind what is portrayed does not necessarily mean that those on the receiving end can digest it.

You might like your drawing, or your symphony, but to someone else, that drawing might be a scribble; that symphony may be a cacophony.

Why limit ourselves to expression when we can work towards communication? If we are misunderstood, chances are, we’re using a different language.

Dialogue goes both ways, not just one speaking a “foreign language” and expecting to be taken seriously.

Learn more languages (or improve your English), you’ll find better ways to be understood.

Peace,
MG

Filled with secrets that we keep
Surmounting each one as we speak
Hiding in the crevices of us
Wondering if we’d ever trust enough
To reveal to others our vulnerable selves
While on the surface many choose to dwell
Holding onto untested truths
Jaded, unguided, confused in the gloom
All headed to our resting places, they say
Upon which many a head shall lay
The birch on which the raven is perched
When we’ve more skulls than what roams the earth
A dark shadow is cast o’er the moors
Echoes howl in the distance, never more
Stifled screams silenced, and repeat
Battling, until the enemy retreats
This “enemy” of whom you speak
Will we ever a chance to meet
Will they ever an untold secret to keep
Between your alleged “enemy” — and me?

MG

I’m not here to take the pain
To shelter you from the storm again
I’m not here to suffer the blame
To confront the fire that can’t be tamed

No, I’m here on my own accord
With an agenda, I forewarn
I’ll take the bull right by the horns
Throw him into a garden of thorns
So that he may wriggle his way out
Escape, feeling accomplished and proud
Become the Bull that I can announce
That he’s ready to be set free, rejoicing sounds

Instead, this bull got comfortable and relaxed
He did not run, he stood there perplexed
He took one look at the thorns and compressed
Them into crumbs — I was slightly impressed
He then set out to consume the leaves
A few at a time, he chewed slowly
By the time the patch was thoroughly empty
He had enough space to fall asleep.

And that is how I made a friend:
He consumed the weapon — didn’t fight nor defend.

MG

Every time I try to write a letter
I can find a million ways to better
The words I place right on the page
Paper and ink, a written stage
On which I placate my unrevealed self
As if this book was a display shelf
Bound, wrapped, unexposed, but true
The mysteries held in me, in you
For years, we tried to grow — apart
But I knew that you held my heart
For so long, we’d gone our separate ways
I thought you’d left me here to stay
Here we are, we meet again
Finally ready to make amends
The irony is that between us two
There’s no right or wrong — only truth
So, my dear, my wondrous creation
Are you here by obligation
Or did you come to finally concede
So that we may combine our realities…?

MG

When I lack direction
They give me religion

When I lack discretion
They squelch my questions

When I challenge regimes
They corner me into the mainstream

When I seek advice
They tell me to sacrifice

When I ask for help
They tell me to save myself

When I offer my assistance
They react with resistance

When I show my presence
They criticize me for pretense

When I grace them with absence
They sense the suspense

When I try to improve
They ask me to move

When I try to take a break
They shower me with headaches

When I act like myself
I’m a demon from hell
But when I embrace civility
I’m denying reality

When I fail
They silence my wails

When I succeed
They start to proceed

When I decide to just “be”
They tell me I’m bored and lazy

When I assertively take action
They want a piece of the faction

When I talk to humans
They sense my commotion

When I disengage
They become enraged

It is not that I am trying to please
Each and every one around me
But if I am to admit, honestly
It’s that I can’t find my place in this city

 

MG

 

Hello silence, ye olde friend
Once acquainted, we meet again
We do not see one another often
Not since I left you alone in that coffin
Where have you been, you strange mystery
You glance, then evade our torn reality
As if you are nothing but a dream
A flicker in time, an untold memory

Hello silence, a strange companion
The one who soundlessly, readily creeps in
One who dwells in questionable existence
As if your form is nothing but pretense
You take over while many are sleeping
You echo in the hollows of the disbelieving
I found you once and tried retrieving
But it ended with a mortal “me” retreating

Hello silence, once again
The final greeting before your descent
As suddenly as life begins
Your demise — silence…ends.

MG

Beyond the fire of heartbreak
Where anger cannot be slaked
When rage does not consume the pain
But ignites, burns, fuels the flame
Even Death’s kiss, cannot hold sway
The offending malefactor, a penance must pay
Pay, but not an earthly penalty
To trade one’s soul for a dying memory
The anguished cries will not be heard
From vengeance’s path, they’ll naught be deterred
Silenced screams resound in agony
Echoes of retribution, stifled over centuries
‘Tis not mere chance, but insatiable need
Comprehend consequences, their counsel do heed
Vibrations of timeless truths unforetold
Warnings of vengeance…
vengeance of the souls.

 

MG ~ KB

A king’s crumb
The pauper’s pearl
~MG~

Kings, they sit amongst each other, feasting on rum and wine. They eat and drink, mock laymen and slash servants for fun. The kings awake the next morning with bitter hangovers, only to rule the People whose integrity was entirely disregarded merely hours prior.

Councillors, they converse with each other, sampling brandy and whiskey. They sup and swallow, scoff at their kings and throw crumbs at kids. The Councillors rise at dawn with no hangover, ready to persuade the kings to follow their tactics while simultaneously riding on moral high-horses, ripping off the underprivileged with unrequited taxes.

School children, they play alongside each other, drinking ale and juice. They gargle and guzzle, taunt each other and start brawls for personal amusement. The children awaken in the morn for school, only to be reprimanded by teachers for inappropriate attire and caned for disrespect.

Paupers, they laugh amongst each other, sipping gin and stale beer. They nibble and gulp, make a mockery of themselves and smash bottles across each others’ heads for fun. The paupers awake the next day with fuzzy heads, knowing that their actions only justified the ridicule of their rulers.

The People, the entirety of the humans, all engaged in the same manner with those who shared in their sameness. They all rotated like gears in a clock, trying to make it from sunrise to sunset without disrupting the direction. They were all the same, for they all shared in the belief that they were different. From kings with their superiority complexes to paupers with their simplex inferiority: each to its own, all did the same.

Despite this reality, their egos allowed them all to believe they were unique.

But they weren’t.

They really, really weren’t.

 

MG

 

I exist in whatever world I make
One I could create
A world from which I need not escape
For it expands only to embrace
A world where I don’t discriminate
Merely give what I will take
A world that’s real, where nothing is fake
Where there’s no “lose or save face”

They coin it utopian and call me idealist
Yet I am my biggest cynic
I balance the two and call myself a realist
Who is also my own worst critic
Finding a way to be more expressive
Without sounding as cryptic
Striving to know what’s wanted, what’s needed
Limited to role models I mimic

Twas never about the defeaters nor defeated
Both equally parasitic
A mix of those who have been mistreated
What could have been pandemic
To neither the meek, nor the conceited
But ambiverts – sociably eremitic
This is the world I’ve inhabited
Between creative and academic

So I exist in whatever world I make
One I could create
A world from which I need not escape
For it expands only to embrace
A world where I don’t discriminate
Merely give what I will take
A world that’s real, where nothing is fake
Founded on freedom, justice, and grace

MG

You enable me to feel
What I’ve been afraid of
Yet restrict me from doing
What I believe keeps me alive

I don’t merely mean the blood
Pumping through the veins
But the vigor that breathes life
That reflects both sun and rain

There are days I try my best
To be kind, to be gentle, and to be sweet
But then come the days I just need to rest
Breathe, release, the passing summer breeze

On those days the demons come out
To prance and hop — to play
You don’t like them, but they’re part of me
I’m a balance of both, but not a buffet

You don’t get to pick and choose which parts
Of me you may or may not like
I was up-front with you right from the start
That I won’t control what goes on inside

I’ve merely trained my external expression
How to get it out
Some say I’m passive, others sense aggression
All you have to do is stick around

You’ll see the full picture but not all at once
It’s just the way I like to present
An hour at a time, a day, week, month
Slowly, our unity begins to ascend

I am One, but I embody many
Other bodies, other souls, other inspirations
I merely reflect the company I keep
Living vicariously through each others’ creations

MG

“Try something new,” she had said, responding to the unspoken yearning I’d been having for adventure.

What’s new? I had wondered, constricted by the limitations of my imagination. And bank account. Try something new…

I’d been pondering for months what “new hobby” would satiate my thirst. For months, I dreamed of playing the violin, of resting it gently in my left hand, tips to the fingerboard, bow at the ready as if it were a wand, preparing to cast a spell of musical magic.

But there was something at the back of my head whispering, “one thing at a time my dear. One thing at a time.”

Eager beaver I was, always wanting to cultivate or learn something: another instrument, another language, another sport,  a new skill, expand my world and all that. The mere thought of balancing all of that amidst a life of work, academics, social life and relationships, would be overwhelming to most people.

I suppose I’m “different” that way. I was…determined.

And so I tried something new. Contrary to what I had thought, t’was not a passive hobby that was needed, but rather an expressive outlet. An aggressive and intense activity that had the adrenaline pumping with the risk level fairly low.

I tried something new.

I packed my bag and prepared for a day out at sea. It was sunny with very few clouds blotted around the sky. There was a gentle breeze, barely noticeable unless one was consciously looking out for it. The sun blazed down ever so softly, discreetly, but silently lethal if one was not careful.

It had been years since I had last been in these waters, a decade, perhaps. I strapped the board to my feet and tightened the laces, with enthusiasm and confidence. Though it had been years, and I was a little nervous, I was more excited than I had felt in a very long time.

Smiling at the board with silent anticipation, I jumped into the water and let my body adjust to the temperature. The water is your friend, I told myself, as the touch of the ocean against my skin shocked the city-life out of my system momentarily.

Try something new, she had said.

At that moment, I was more grateful than ever to even have this opportunity, to have this experience. To have this kind of freedom that very few truly understand, let alone appreciate. I was grateful for my friends, for their presence and company.

And I was grateful for the sea, for the fun I was about to have.

I gripped the handle and the motor roared into action. In seconds, I was up and gliding across the water. The waves washed over my feet as I tilted forward and backwards, controlling the direction of movement. The sun blared over my head and the wind blew at me as I soared across the waves.

It had been years, but I was finally back.

Finally… free.

 

 

MG

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